


Unscratchable Itch

by whatintheworld



Category: Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Hurt Shaw, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Why do I do this, whoops i did it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatintheworld/pseuds/whatintheworld
Summary: Deckard shows up at Hobbs's house looking for medical help. It leads to something unexpected.





	Unscratchable Itch

Shaw grunted when a chair shattered around his back.  _ Fuck, that one hurt _ . His hand curled around a piece of something long and sharp, which was fine by him, and he stabbed it into the person behind him. 

His assailant cried out, but Shaw’s attention was drawn by a “Hey, motherfucker!” and a well-placed punch. Shaw stumbled back and rubbed at his jaw. The man standing in front of him was huge, annoyingly so, and he sighed.  _ This one wasn’t going to be pleasant _ . 

*

Shaw practically crawled out of his vehicle, not that he would admit it, and slumped up to knock on Hobbs’s door. (The only reason he knew where Hobbs lived was something he will not discuss or think about). Hobbs himself came to answer the door, and it was a testimony to Shaw’s exhaustion that he didn’t catch the flash of worry in his eyes. 

“Jesus, Shaw. What the hell happened?” Hobbs growled. Shaw would have shrugged, but his shoulder hurt like a fucker. 

“None o’ your fuckin’ business is what happened. Now let me the hell inside,” Shaw hissed, with much less bite than he would have liked. Hobbs's hands encircled his waist and  _ no, Shaw did not lean into it. _

They made it to the bathroom (not that Shaw saw much of the hallway and the stairs) and he was sat onto the closed toilet. Hobbs grabbed a first aid kit and when he went to open it, Shaw slapped his hand away. “Don’t need your help. Fuck off,” he snarled, then hissed when a hand grasped his wrist.  _ Good fuck, he usually didn’t hurt like this.  _

“Like hell, I will, princess. If you don’t want my help, why’d you show up here in the first place?” Shaw felt his face flush, and  _ shit,  _ he couldn’t remember the last time he blushed. Hobbs huffed and turned back to the kit. 

No, he wasn’t going to tell Hobbs - or even admit it to himself - that he had no other reason to show up here than his want to just  _ not  _ be alone. 

Recently, his skin had been tingling, like there were millions of bugs crawling through his arms and Shaw  _ hated _ it. No matter how hard he was hit, how many things shattered his bones, his traitorous skin wouldn’t stop goddamn  _ itching _ . 

It scared him, deep in his heart, that the touch around his waist from Hobbs had made the rippling, burning sensation die down. It wasn’t fair that Hobbs was so nice and  _ kind  _ under his hard exterior. It just wasn’t  _ fair,  _ how much Shaw wanted and needed and  _ burned _ for Hobbs, in a painful, delicious way.

Shaw could barely tell the difference between the ache that was his physical state and the ever-constant ache that echoed through his chest when he thought of Hobbs.  _ Good lords _ , Shaw had even tried  _ hiring _ someone, with his own money, to help with the pain. 

It didn’t help. The manicured nails ripping at his back and the too high pitched moans only fueled the ache in his lungs. 

Hobbs swiped a cold alcohol wipe over a cut on his cheek Shaw didn’t know about and he was forced to the present. A hiss wound its way out of his mouth and he closed his eyes against the sting.

“Jesus, Hobbs, can you back off on the fuckin’ alcohol?” Shaw groaned but quelled himself at the hard glance he got. The cold wipes trailed along his face, neck, dipped into what was left of his suit collar, and stopped. 

“You gonna take off your shirt or not?” Shaw growled in his throat when his lizard brain thought  _ finally, you’re gonna get something _ , and promptly told it to shut the hell up.

When he realized that Hobbs was staring at him, Shaw struggled out of the tatters of his jacket and started to work on the buttons of his shirt. The pain aching across his chest seemed to centre in his shoulder and he gave out a ragged grunt when it clicked.

Hobbs’s hands were all over him again and Shaw - well, he didn't know what it made him feel. But it felt pretty damn good if he was honest with himself, which he didn’t plan to be, so confused he stayed. 

“It’s okay, princess, I’ll be gentle,” Hobbs murmured, and Shaw felt the chords in his neck whip tight. Hobbs continued his work. 

Shaw knew he  _ knew  _ he probably had zero rights to jump the man in front of him. And he still wanted it.  _ God _ , he wanted it so bad he felt like he was on  _ fire _ . 

And then it was over. Hobbs retreated, face unreadable, and packed up his first aid kit. Shaw wanted to crawl out of his skin and scream as the itching returned. 

He was dragged to the bedroom and set on soft sheets. His eyes didn’t close, though, and Hobbs visibly sighed. “You can relax, princess. I’m not going to jump you in your sleep, and Sam’s out for the weekend. You can leave and crash at your fucking Batcave tomorrow.”

Shaw felt something in his chest snap when Hobbs said ‘leave’ and recoiled from it with a snarl. “I can fuckin’ go as I please, Hobbs.” 

Hobbs’s eyes shuttered in anger and he grew to full height. “No, you damn don’t, Shaw, not in my house,” he growled. Something in Shaw’s chest snapped even harder and he must have made a face since Hobbs’s eyes softened in curiosity. 

“Something wrong with that?” Hobbs asked. 

Shaw tried to deny it, the roaring want in his head, and it came out in his squeezing grasp on the sheets. Hobbs’s head tilted, and Shaw suddenly couldn’t look at those dark, all-consuming eyes anymore, and turned his head away. 

Since fucking when did he get so  _ weak _ as to not be able to look a man in the eyes? When did this  _ disgusting  _ obsession enter his head?

Shaw knew the answers. Ever since he met Hobbs, in all his fucking glory. The bastard. 

“Shaw,” Hobbs said, but Shaw couldn’t find himself giving a shit anymore. He’d leave tomorrow. He’d leave and get in another fight and  _ ruin  _ his life. 

“Deckard,” Hobbs whispered, and Shaw whipped his head around to stare at him. No one called him that name. Not anymore. 

“What?” Shaw ground out, hating the way it dragged at his throat and made his eyes prickle. 

Hobbs opened his mouth, closed it, and then came closer. A hand found its way to his jaw and Deckard found himself looking up and into deep pools of warmth. His heart froze, and time froze with it. 

The silence that stretched just begged Deckard to say something, to say ‘no, hell no,’ and jerk away from the hand. He didn’t. 

Hobbs’s lips brushed his own and something shattered and exploded within Shaw’s cold body. He let out an animalistic whine and pushed,  _ pushed _ with all the want and pain and burn that he had suffered the past months and Hob-Luke,  _ Luke _ pushed back. 

Hand settled on his shoulders and gripped him, and Deckard clung onto the neck above him. Things rushed from there; he gasped as he was laid back onto the bed, and Luke settled an oh-so-gentle weight on him. 

They snogged like teenagers until they came up for breath and Deckard realized that he was  _ fucking crying _ , like a  _ baby _ . “Shit shit shit,” he hissed and scrubbed at his eyes. 

“Hey, don’t do that, princess,” Luke hushed, kissing at the wrists he had gathered in a hand. “It’s alright, kay?” 

Deckard nodded because there was nothing else for him to do. A mouth touched him again, and he breathed into the otherworldly bliss it wrought on his heart. 

A hand was on his leg, and then higher, and it felt  _ good,  _ really,  _ really _ good. The crawling under his skin burst into his groin and Deckard moaned at the sensation. 

His cock was swamped in Luke’s hand and it felt better than any sex he’d ever had. The rush under his skin tightened, like a fine line, and then gave. He screamed into Luke’s mouth as he came. 

It was a bit dark until he came to with a warm flannel wiping him off. His mind instantly flickered to Luke, and his obvious predicament bulging from his pants, but Deckard's arm was caught on the way. 

“Not right now, princess. Maybe later,” Luke said and settled a warm presence behind Deckard. 

Deckard found himself shivering at the contact, a wonderful replacement from the unscratchable itch that had ravaged him in the past months. 

He fell asleep happy, content, and smiling like a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness, gracious. I'm thinking about adding another chapter with a more in detail smut. It'll bump up the rating. Thanks to anyone that reads!


End file.
